


Flying Home

by writtensword



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-23 18:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4886419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writtensword/pseuds/writtensword
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andy did not leave in Paris. Nigel, Miranda and Andy are on the flight back to New York. Three small vignettes, from three different points of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nigel

Nigel removes his spectacles and wipes at the glass with a handkerchief to avoid having to meet Miranda’s gaze as she walks into the business class cabin. His loyalty remains, for better or worse, but he is upset. His pride has been wounded and his dreams shattered. And although he understands the rules of the game and is aware that Miranda likely did not have a choice, there still is resentment brewing in the pit of his stomach.

Someone bumps into his elbow, almost causing his spectacles to slip, and he sighs and looks up at Andy Sachs, who is juggling two of Miranda’s carry-on bags while talking on the phone.

“Oh, sorry, Nigel,” she whispers with a grimace.

He rolls his eyes but nonetheless smirks at Miranda’s assistant and slides his glasses back onto his nose. Somewhere during the past few months he has grown fond of this clumsy, big-hearted gazelle of a woman, and so he stands and helps her stow away the luggage in the overhead compartment.

She thanks him with a warm hand to his shoulder, and takes the seat across the aisle where she quietly speaks into the phone. Nigel watches her for a moment, remembering how upset she was for him just a day ago. Real friendship within the industry is a rare occurrence, but he considers Andy a true ally.

When she hangs up the phone and shrugs off her blazer to get more comfortable in her seat, he leans over and asks, “ready to go home?”

To his surprise she doesn’t give her usual bright smile and cheerful ‘yes’. In fact, Andy appears startled as she thinks about her answer, and she scrunches her eyebrows in confusion. Then he remembers that Andy has broken up with her long-term boyfriend just prior to flying to Paris, and he realises she might not even have a ‘home’ to return to.

Before Nigel has a chance to say anything else, Miranda’s soft voice calls from the row in front.

“Andrea.”

 _Ah, the Snow Queen summons_ , he thinks with a pinch of bitterness, and he makes room for Andy to rise from her chair and hurry to Miranda.

He doesn’t hear what his boss is saying, but the fact that instead of returning to her seat Andy sits down next to Miranda doesn’t bode well for the assistant. Andy will probably be working for most of the journey, and Nigel isn’t happy to lose his flight buddy. Part of him wonders why, after yesterday, Andy still so readily jumps whenever Miranda calls for her. Hasn’t she seen how the queen of fashion treats those who work the hardest and are the most loyal?

As the plane rolls across the tarmac Nigel leans back in his seat. He knows he can’t expect a talented young woman with a whole career still ahead of her to make a stand on his behalf. He understands that he can’t ask her to fight his battles, but as he watches her eagerly scribble down Miranda’s instructions on her notepad, he can’t help but feel a little bit betrayed.

 _She’s too forgiving_ , he thinks. And he knows that although this very quality might be one of Andy’s most endearing, it will likely also be her downfall. She puts too much faith in Miranda, holding on to the slightest sign of humanity that even Nigel now has to admit simply isn’t there.

He looks out of the window as the engines roar and the plane is propelled across the runway.

There is a reason why they call Miranda the ‘Snow Queen’. For so many years Nigel has defended her, but now that he has been on the receiving end of her schemes, he can no longer deny that Miranda’s heart is indeed made of ice. He only hopes that the day Andy learns this truth for herself, her own heart won’t shatter into a million pieces.

 

* * *

 

A few hours into the flight Nigel wakes in discomfort from a restless slumber. Earlier, to drown his frustration, he knocked back three glasses of champagne, and now he has to pee. The cabin light has been lowered to simulate night, and, as everyone around him seems to be resting as well, the overhead lamps are turned off, too. Well, all except one. As he unbuckles his seatbelt and stands Nigel is not surprised to see the warm spotlight shine down upon Miranda’s silver hair.

He takes a deep breath and tries to quiet that small voice in the back of his mind that tells him how hard Miranda herself works, and that all of their jobs ultimately depend on her diligence.

Determined not to feel sorry for the woman, he briskly turns and walks down the other aisle toward the front of the plane. Miranda creates her own reality, putting work above all else, no matter the cost. That mindset has turned her into an unfeeling automaton, and Nigel is not surprised that yet another husband has filed for divorce. There is no room for love within a frozen heart. Nigel knows his thoughts are cruel, but the alcohol has caused his anger to flare up.

He relieves himself and then washes his hands and face. Once done, he looks up into the small mirror and sighs. He understands that most of all he hates himself, because despite everything that has happened he will stay by Miranda’s side, doing the job he has done so exceptionally well for over a decade. It makes him feel powerless and weak, and he decides to hold on to his grudge a while longer. After all Miranda is the one who has single-handedly crushed his dreams of independence.

Quietly he leaves the lavatory and starts to make his way back to his seat when suddenly a small movement catches his eye and he stops in his tracks.

There, on the other side of the half-empty business class cabin, Miranda Priestly leans ever so slightly towards her sleeping assistant and very gently adjusts the blanket around the younger woman’s shoulders. For a moment the Snow Queen just stares at the peaceful face before her, and Nigel can hardly believe the tenderness he sees in her eyes. Surely he must be imagining things. Perhaps he is still asleep?

Oblivious to him watching, Miranda raises a hand, her fingers hesitant. But then she reaches up and slowly brushes a strand of chestnut hair from Andy’s forehead, her gaze filled with warmth. The younger woman stirs, and Nigel holds his breath when her head slides down from the headrest and falls to the side and onto Miranda’s shoulder. But a smile blooms on Miranda’s lips, small, yet definitely genuine, and Nigel’s chest hurts, because he hasn’t seen her smile like that in years.

He cannot reconcile the boss who so coolly handed his dream job to her rival in order to save her own skin to the woman who now carefully leans her cheek against the top of her assistant’s head, her lips pursed in the most gentle of kisses. And then the overhead lamp is switched off and Nigel is left with the surreal outline of these two women huddled together in semi darkness.

Many different thoughts race through his mind as he stands rooted to the spot. He is unsure whether to feel triumphant for having caught Miranda in such a vulnerable act, or to feel jealous of young, naive Andy for holding such apparent power over the mighty Snow Queen.

Then, taking great care to not draw Miranda’s attention he sneaks back to his seat, and for a long while he just sits and stares, stunned by what he has witnessed.

He remembers selfishly hoping that Andy would quit her job out of solidarity with him, which would be silly, as it would technically not help him one bit, and she would be left without a pay check. Now Nigel wonders, however, if part of him somehow knew that Andy turning her back on Miranda would hurt the other woman immensely.

He thinks back at the tender look in Miranda’s eyes, and suddenly the thought of revenge has lost all its appeal.

 


	2. Miranda

Miranda watches Nigel turn away as she walks to her seat, and she feels a sliver of guilt. Not for doing what she had to do, but for blind-sighting him. For not explaining. Justifying her actions to others is something she rarely does, but the lingering unease in the back of her mind makes her realise that she considers Nigel a friend, and sometimes friends deserve answers.

Miranda will speak to him, but not today. They have a long flight ahead of them, and there is still so much to do. With a small, exhausted sigh she settles into the window seat and waits for Andrea to join her.

The assistant halts at the row behind her, and at first Miranda thinks it is only to quietly finish the phone call to Miranda’s driver in New York. When, after hanging up, Andrea does not move, however, Miranda briefly panics, but quickly converts that panic into the comforting feeling of anger instead. Has she not been clear last night? Has Andrea not listened?

Nigel asks the young woman whether she is ready to go home, and aware of Andrea’s situation, Miranda intervenes so that Andrea doesn’t have to answer. She calls for her, her tongue sharp and ready to lash out at the younger woman for keeping her waiting. But then Andrea is beside her, and leans close and whispers, “sorry. I sort of promised Nigel I’d keep him company.”

Her breath ghosts across Miranda’s skin, and all Miranda can do is utter, “you will sit with _me_ ,” because Andrea’s scent engulfs her, and the earlier anger in Miranda’s belly instantly dissolves into unbearably giddy warmth.

To distract herself without having to send the younger woman away again, she begins to list things that need to be done on their return to the States. Andrea’s pen scratches over the notepad, and for just a moment Miranda can pretend that nothing at all has changed, that this is how it will always be.

But two weeks from now Andrea will no longer be her assistant, and although there is a far sweeter trade-off looming on the horizon, Miranda doesn’t know how she will cope. She has come to rely too much on the younger woman’s skill and efficiency, and Andrea’s absence in the office will be a palpable loss.

When she can think of no other task for Andrea to write down, Miranda turns her head and gazes out of the window. The plane has stopped and is waiting to be cleared for take-off, and as it always does, the following anticipation drapes the cabin in pleasant silence.

Andrea puts away her notebook, and from the corner of her eye Miranda sees her lean back into her seat and grasp both armrests.

“Always hate this part,” Andrea whispers with a grimace, and Miranda looks at her, surprised.

Can it really be that this fearless young woman, who has fought her way into an industry that was completely alien to her a year ago, and who, by winning her battles with charming wit and steadfast integrity, has managed to conquer Miranda’s heart, is afraid of flying?

As the turbines roar with power and begin to thrust the plane forward--something Miranda herself has always found quite thrilling--Andrea loses some of the lovely colour in her face, and the jab Miranda was about to teasingly whisper falters on her lips.

Instead, she moves her hand so that her index finger lightly brushes the side of Andrea’s cramped palm, and as she continues to gently stroke over smooth skin, Miranda sees Andrea’s shoulders relax. When the fingers slightly unfurl from their rigid grip, Miranda hooks her pinky around Andrea’s, and some of the colour immediately returns to the younger woman’s cheeks.

They sit quietly, their gently linked fingers hidden by the armrest, and Miranda glances at Andrea, who has her eyes closed. The plane lifts into the air, and as it climbs higher and higher golden light from the low afternoon sun spills across Andrea’s face. Miranda’s chest contracts at the beautiful sight, and she remembers that she has almost lost this woman.

One day ago Andrea walked away from her. Miranda’s grip tightens as she relives the excruciating moment of realisation and those long, painful seconds of uncertainty until the younger woman finally picked up her phone.

Andrea’s eyelashes flutter open, and she looks at Miranda with concern, blinking against the sunlight that turns her irises a deep amber. Full lips part to ask if Miranda is okay, and Miranda almost replies that, now, with Andrea by her side, she will be. She swallows back the romantic statement, though, because she cannot afford to lose herself in sentimental declarations. Not yet.

She turns away and squints into the sun, but keeps her hand where it is, needing the small physical connection to remind her that Andrea is here.

Miranda makes very few mistakes when it comes to her career, and until now she has been able to always interpret the motivations of others correctly. It is how she manages to stay one step ahead of everyone else and how, through the years, she has continuously secured her position as editor-in-chief of Runway. Her approach with Andrea, however, has been a severe miscalculation, and in hindsight Miranda wonders how she could have been so blind.

Pride, that is what she felt when she so cleverly thwarted Irv’s plans to oust her, and she expected Andrea to celebrate with her, to hold her in even higher esteem. Miranda would never outright gloat about being invincible, but somehow she needed the confirmation from Andrea. But it never came.

Instead she was faced with a crushed and angry young woman who resented her for sacrificing Nigel, who accused her of being cruel and ruthless. And when Miranda drew the parallels between her choices and Andrea’s very own in an attempt to make her see how alike they were, something inside the younger woman shattered. Miranda did not pay attention then, convinced Andrea would quickly see things her way, since she adapted so beautifully to every other aspect of Miranda’s life.

Aware that Andrea meant a great deal to her, Miranda thought that a sure way to keep the younger woman in her life was to dazzle her with displays of power, to fully introduce her to a life of glamour and perfection, and to groom her to one day perhaps take over the magazine.

And that is where she was wrong. She entirely misunderstood, and it almost cost her the woman she has so completely fallen in love with.

Miranda closes her eyes, blind spots from the sun dancing across her vision.

Andrea has become the best assistant Miranda has ever had, not because being a highly regarded, famous editor is the career she dreams of, but because it is _Miranda_ she dreams of. Those were Andrea’s words last night. Those were the words that changed everything.

Now Miranda feels foolish. She almost drove Andrea away, because the thought that someone might enjoy her for her personality instead of for the many doors she can open is simply inconceivable. But somehow, miraculously, Andrea truly cares about her. And that is what moved her to pick up the phone and return to Miranda’s side the previous day.

The plane slowly levels out as it reaches cruising altitude, and movement from the other passengers filters through to Miranda as the cabin crew begins to serve drinks. With a final, drawn out squeeze to Andrea’s finger, Miranda removes her hand, and she pulls an article for February from her bag.

Andrea gets up to retrieve her laptop, and they work for a few hours in that quiet, yet productive companionship that Miranda has grown so accustomed to. She realises that this is not something she will need to give up, and she imagines going over the Book in the evenings at the townhouse while Andrea sits curled up on the sofa next to her. It may be too soon to think of their future together when quite a few things are still uncertain, but Miranda cannot douse the warm glow of hope inside her chest.

A few hours into the flight the plane is quiet again, and the other passengers are either sleeping or watching a movie. The cabin lights have been lowered, and beside her Andrea yawns for the third time. Miranda leans over and she feels Andrea automatically drift towards her.

“Get some rest, Andrea,” she says quietly, peering over the rim of her reading glasses.

The younger woman nods gratefully and when she gets comfortable in her seat and adorably huddles under a blanket Miranda is completely endeared. She almost wishes her a good night, but quickly rolls her eyes at herself and returns to writing scathing remarks on the inadequate article on her lap.

During one final read-through she sees Nigel slink away to the lavatory, and she decides to speak to him first thing in the morning when they are back at Runway.

They should land in New York in less than two hours, but Miranda is tired. She stifles a yawn and puts away her work, before readjusting the blanket across her lap. It is cold, and not for the first time she realises that travelling in couture does have its downsides.

Andrea is fast asleep, and Miranda marvels at the peaceful rise and fall of her chest, wondering how the younger woman can so easily sleep through the engine noise. Then again, they did not get much sleep last night, having stayed up and talked for hours, clearing the air between them and arriving at a surprising, but very welcome understanding. Andrea must be exhausted.

Careful not to wake her, Miranda moves the armrest between them out of the way and reaches up to pull the blanket back over Andrea’s shoulders. Her heart flutters as she studies the long shadows of the younger woman’s eyelashes as they fall across her cheeks, cast by the overhead reading light. Her fingers itch to brush the hair from Andrea’s forehead, and after a moment of internally debating whether this might cross the temporary boundaries they agreed on she surrenders to the urge, mesmerised as her fingertips briefly touch skin.

Andrea stirs, making the slightest noise of what Miranda hopes is contentment, and then her head slowly droops to the side and lands on Miranda’s shoulder. Miranda cannot suppress a smile, and she very gently rests her cheek atop Andrea’s head, basking in the younger woman’s scent and tenderly pressing her lips to soft hair. With a quick push of a button she switches off the overhead lamp and slowly relaxes back in her seat, bringing up a hand to keep Andrea with her.

As she drifts into a light slumber that weakens her so well-constructed emotional defences, Miranda feels love surge through her. Sluggishly, her fingers wander down to find Andrea’s hand through the blanket, and she holds on to it, her chest filling with happiness when Andrea snuggles close against her.


	3. Andy

Andy follows Miranda aboard the plane and struggles to not drop the bags she is carrying while speaking to Roy on the phone. He confirms their planned arrival time at JFK, and Andy wonders if he will even bat an eyelash when he drives both Miranda and her to the town house tonight.

The excited turmoil in her stomach at the prospect of spending another evening with Miranda distracts her, and Andy bumps into Nigel. As he so often does with her, he rolls his eyes, but then comes to her aid, and together they put away the luggage so she can sit and give final instructions to Miranda’s driver. Once she hangs up the phone she tries to think of an excuse to go and sit with Miranda. After yesterday’s events they have agreed to remain by each other’s side as much as possible, but Andy cannot bring herself to just abandon Nigel when he is so obviously still hurting.

She takes off her blazer as he leans across the aisle, a half-hearted smirk on his tired face.

“Ready to go home?”

Right away Andy is reminded of the fact that as soon as she returns to New York she will need to find a new place to live. She remembers her ex-boyfriend’s email in which he so gallantly informed her that she has one week to pick up her belongings, and as she mulls over the meaning of the word ‘home’ she feels an unmistakable pull toward the row of seats in front of her. Tonight she will be going home with Miranda.

“Andrea.”

Nigel manages to get out of her way just in time, and as she rushes past him Andy feels slightly guilty about her enthusiasm. Miranda is displeased about something, and Andy guesses that is has to do with her initial seating choice. Quickly she reveals her earlier promise to Nigel, well aware that Miranda does not like excuses.

The older woman’s tone is strained and possessive when she tells Andy to sit with her instead, causing an involuntary tingle to glide down Andy’s spine. She hopes that Nigel will forgive her, because suddenly the anger in Miranda’s features transforms into that guarded vulnerability Andy loves so much, and there is no way she can deny Miranda anything right now. She is glad when Miranda returns to work mode. Nobody will question why an assistant sits beside her boss while taking notes.

After she has filled two pages with the older woman’s instructions and Miranda turns away to look out of the window, Andy realises that the plane is waiting for take-off. Queasiness grows in her belly, and she puts away her pen and notepad and hopes Miranda will not think less of her as she slides her clammy palms along the armrests and tightly grasps the edges.

“Always hate this part,” she whispers, unsure why she would tell Miranda, who will no doubt tease her about it.

Andy tries to think happy thoughts, and Miranda’s beautiful, relieved smile from last night comes to mind. Andy attempts to hold on to it when the engines pick up and the plane starts to move.

_I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die._

It takes a while for the sensation of Miranda stroking the side of her hand to filter through the haze of her panic, but once the significance of Miranda offering such a reassuring gesture in public sinks in it is all Andy can feel, and she relaxes as the anxiety is slowly coaxed from her by Miranda’s gentle touch. When Miranda curls a finger around her pinky, Andy wonders if perhaps she can pretend that her racing heart and glowing cheeks are merely symptoms of her fear of flying. She is overcome by her affection for the woman beside her, and vaguely aware of the plane lifting off, she holds on to Miranda and thanks the heavens that she decided to pick up her phone yesterday.

Andy learned about the plot to dethrone Miranda two nights ago, during dinner with a man she does not even like, but who is the first person in the industry who showed the slightest interest in her writing. He boasted about being part of the conspiracy, so sure that Andy would eagerly support their scheme to get rid of her ‘boss from hell’ with the prospect of quickly moving ahead in the wake of her downfall.

But Andy’s heart beats for Miranda. It has done so for months now, and hearing that smarmy, self-righteous man speak so unkindly of the woman she loves made her promptly leave him at the restaurant before dessert was served, not caring if it will hamper her writing career.

With the image of a defeated-looking Miranda, who was just served with a divorce, still fresh in her mind, she raced through the night to warn her, only to have her concerns be hastily waved off as if they were insignificant. As if _Andy_ was insignificant. Now she knows better, but two nights ago she felt rejected and worthless.

And when all was revealed the next day and Miranda so openly basked in the glamorous success of her clever manoeuvring, Andy realised it was not enough. She could continue to adapt to this fabulous lifestyle, leave behind her ethics and bathe in luxury and fame, but as a price she would lose herself, and none of it would bring her any closer to Miranda.

So she walked away, her heart breaking.

Miranda tightens the hold on her finger, and Andy opens her eyes and gazes at her through lowered lashes against the sun, wondering if the older woman read her mind.

“Hey, are you okay?” She asks softly, but Miranda just looks at her, face obscured by the backlit window, while her chest heaves with unspoken emotions.

Yesterday, when Andy stopped running and, after a long, internal debate, finally answered her phone, Miranda did not say anything either. Prepared to be verbally eviscerated, Andy was shocked, when all she heard was a tremulous sigh of relief, almost a sob, that stabbed her right in her gut. Her dash back to Miranda’s side is still a bit of a blur, but when she arrived and looked into Miranda’s red-rimmed eyes, seeing the devastation within, it dawned on Andy that things were not at all as she thought.

Miranda turns toward the window, her grip on Andy’s finger remaining firm, and for a while Andy simply studies her outline as the setting sun paints the tips of her silver hair a liquid gold.

 _Two more weeks,_ she thinks as she battles with the intense urge to wrap Miranda into a fierce hug. That is what they agreed on. Waiting until Andy finishes her two-weeks of notice is the right thing to do, even if it will definitely prove a challenge now that Andy knows how much Miranda cares for her.

Last night, after the final shows of Paris Fashion Week, Miranda took Andy to her room where they sat in silence for several minutes until subtle tears, one by one, rolled down Miranda’s perfect cheeks.

“What do I have to do to make you stay?” She asked quietly, her voice unsteady as her gaze fell to the fidgeting hands in her lap.

Andy waited until Miranda reluctantly met her eyes again, and she replied, “let me go.”

When Andy then smiled through her own tears, hoping that Miranda understood what she was offering, the panic in Miranda’s face slowly made way for realisation.

The fasten-seatbelt sign turns off, and Andy hears one of the flight attendants offer drinks behind them. With a final squeeze to her finger, Miranda lets go of her hand and retrieves an article to work on, and Andy stands to fetch her laptop from the overhead compartment.

She sees Nigel reach for two flutes of champagne, and although she feels bad, she knows that it is not her responsibility to forgive Miranda on his behalf. During their conversation last night Miranda alluded to her plan to make it up to Nigel, and Andy is sure that he will eventually receive the recognition he deserves.

Miranda appears to already be engrossed in her work when Andy sits back down, but blue eyes find hers for just a moment, and lips twitch into a tiny curl to which Andy replies with a smirk of her own.

They work in companionable silence, with only an occasional huff of frustration from Miranda or a few hums of indecision from Andy. Lightly, Andy’s fingers fly over the keyboard as she updates her resume, and when she pauses to read over it Miranda leans closer to discreetly glance at the laptop screen through her reading glasses. Andy allows her to read, and although she has made it clear that she does not want Miranda to actively help her find a new job by pulling strings, the older woman’s expertise is still very welcome.

Miranda’s subtle nod is enough motivation for Andy to keep going, and so they spend the next three hours, immersed in their respective work, until Andy has trouble keeping her tired eyes focused in the darkened plane with only Miranda’s reading lamp switched on. When yet another yawn causes her jaw to crack, Miranda turns and Andy feels herself sleepily sway towards her warmth.

“Get some rest, Andrea.”

Miranda’s voice is low and sweet, and Andy readily puts away her computer, tilts back her chair, and snuggles into the blanket, very tempted to turn on her side so that she can face Miranda. She thinks it might be too soon to so publicly display her fondness of the older woman, though, so she opts to lie on her back with her eyes closed, and simply holds on to the image of Miranda working beside her, glasses perched on the tip of her nose and the crown of her head glowing in the spotlight like the halo of a saint.

She can easily imagine falling asleep on the sofa in Miranda’s sitting room while the older woman goes over the Book at night, and the sweet scenario of being woken by gentle lips and then pulled by her hand up the stairs to Miranda’s bedroom warms Andy’s cheeks. She hopes Miranda cannot see her blush.

_Soon._

They will have to be careful. Miranda explained last night that her divorce is uncontested, and that her soon-to-be-ex-husband, whom she is already separated from, has moved out a month ago. However, having only narrowly deflected Irv’s most recent attempt at removing her from the magazine, Miranda suggested that it would be safer for both their careers to wait until Andy no longer works at Runway.

They came very close to kissing last night, when all their emotions were out in the open and they looked at one another with raw affection, hope and such longing. But Miranda very wisely decided for the both of them that once they began there would be no stopping, and although her body screamed otherwise, Andy had to agree.

The fact that Andy will stay at the town house tonight is going to put their resolve to adhere to these boundaries to the test. Nonetheless, Andy is grateful for the offer of Miranda’s guest bedroom, as it gives her at least another day to find a place to stay. Who knows, after their tumultuous time in Paris, having one quiet evening together might just be what they both need to calm down and make it through the coming two weeks.

She is about to drift off to sleep when she feels Miranda lean over and carefully readjust the blanket around her neck. Somehow Andy knows that if she were to blink open her eyes she would see the tenderness Miranda guards so well inside her heart shine back at her. Considering that they are not alone, and that if she looks at Miranda now she will surely kiss her, Andy pretends to be asleep.

Suddenly fingertips flutter against her forehead, very gently brushing hair from her face, and Andy cannot suppress a happy sigh. Hoping she will get away with it, she allows her head to fall to Miranda’s shoulder, pleased when the older woman rests her cheek on top of her hair and the muscles in her face stretch from a smile into a feather-light kiss.

The lamp is switched off, and Miranda moves her whole body closer to Andy, gently cradling Andy’s head to her as she leans against the back of her chair. Despite the humming engines, Andy hears only the sound of her racing heart. Miranda’s fingers slide down over the blanket to take Andy’s hand, and fighting the strong urge to turn and fully embrace Miranda, Andy discretely presses her face into the crook of Miranda’s neck.

She indulges in Miranda’s scent, her warmth and the soothing feel of her satiny skin against her lips, and when she finally succumbs to sleep her last thought is that she is already home.

 

The End

 

 


End file.
